Your Cursed Objects are My Artifacts
by elle4
Summary: Got overly excited about the fact that Bobby's house and the Warehouse are both in South Dakota, and saw a cross over ready to be written. It sparked from there and lead to cursed objects and artifacts being one in the same. Characters listed, possibly will tie in more.
1. Chapter 1

** Note:** So, during my winter break, I continued watching Supernatural and re-watched the first three seasons of Warehouse 13. (I haven't seen the fourth season of WH 13, so shhh!) I found it awesome that both Bobby's place and the Warehouse were both in South Dakota. It was a crossover begging to be written. I wanted it to be centered around the boys, with the Warehouse crew coming in naturally from there. I won't give much else away. Spoilers. - Mild language, nothing major.

* * *

"Shit," Dean said. He was attempting to change a flat tire on his Impala, loosening the lug nuts with a wrench. The lug nuts were screwed on way too tight. With all his weight behind him, the wrench slipped against the bolt. It wasn't going to be as easy as Dean assumed. He was about to try again when he felt a vibration against his bottom. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone. Sam had sent him a text. He wasn't far away, only inside Bobby's library, and he had the gall to text him rather than walking five minutes to the body shop. Dean shoved his cell back into his pocket.

"What do you want, Sammy?" Dean said. He stood in the doorway to the library, wiping his oil coated hands on a rag. The rag was blacker than its original white, but that didn't seem to faze Dean as he mostly smudged the dirt.

"We got a call from Sheriff Mills, possible case," Sam said. He was sitting at Bobby's desk which was covered with stacks of books, an opened laptop and empty beer bottles.

"Here?" It seemed odd that there would be a case so close to home. Dean knew better than to assume that Sioux Falls, South Dakota would be safe from the supernatural. But he had to ask, hoping that perhaps it wasn't a local issue after all. Maybe it was in the next town over.

"Yeah," Sam replied. "She says it's in town. A local woman died in her home last night. The coroner hasn't figured out cause of death yet. Might be worth looking into."

"And she thinks it's ours?"

Sam shrugged. "Doesn't hurt to check it out."

"Let me get cleaned up." Dean looked at his grease stained hands, and grimaced. "First I have to fix the freakin' flat on the Impala." He tucked the rag into his back pocket as he walked back to the garage.

xxxxx

The Winchester bothers arrived at the home where the women had died. It had taken Dean a good hour to loosen the lug nuts and replace the flat with a new tire. At some point on their trek to Bobby's the Impala ran over a nail. The nail had been dragged, ripping a small enough hole to leak air out, forcing the brothers to pull over on the shoulder. Bobby had to drive his tow truck the next state over to drag their asses back to the shop. Dean was grateful for his father figure's line of work. He preferred to not let strangers poke and prod at his baby.

Dean and Sam showed their fake FBI badges to the cops that stood guard outside of the home. It was red bricked with white trim and garnished with yellow tape. The tallest cop lifted up the tape and the Winchesters slipped underneath, entering the front yard. The front door was wide open revealing police and crime scene units. Men and women in uniforms were canvasing the home for any indication as to how the woman may have been murdered.

"Sam, Dean," Sheriff Mills nodded, greeting the two men.

"Sheriff," Dean said, "why do you think it's our case?"

"Well," she sighed, "she was found in an unusual way by her husband, dead, sitting on the couch, watching television."

"That doesn't sound that odd," Sam said. It sounded like the perfect way to go.

"That's how I want to die," Dean admitted. "Television on, beer in my hand and a smile on my face."

"Good luck with that," Sam scoffed. "That doesn't seem that strange."

Sheriff Mills said, "Well, if she had been an elderly woman, I wouldn't have bothered. But she was thirty, in good health, and hardly ready to die in her sleep. She just got married last year. Her husband is in shock, just had one of my men take him to the hospital."

"Has the coroner found anything?" Sam asked.

"Not sure, he hasn't called me about it," Mills said. "If you want to go downtown and pay him a visit, he'll be able to tell you more."

Dean had wandered over to the living room where the woman was found. The television had been shut off, by the husband or by a cop, he wasn't sure. The remote was laying on the maroon colored couch seat. Nothing else seemed out of the ordinary. Dean turned towards the fireplace mantel. A rather old looking clock sat next to pictures of a smiling woman and man who Dean gathered was the wife who died and her husband. They seemed happy together. Their lives only cut all too short by tragedy.

"Dean," Sam called to his brother, "let's go see the body."

xxxxx

The coroner was just about to prepare for the autopsy when the boys arrived. Dean proposed that Sam aid him in his task. "I need to eat," he said with a smirk, patting his stomach. Sam rolled his eyes and entered the morgue. "Call me as soon as it's over!" Dean called behind his shoulder.

Dean walked down the sidewalk to the coffee shop. It was a local place with cheap, easy to pronounce drinks, and held none of that corporate run feel. They had a sign sitting in front of the shop with their specials for the day. 'Fresh Donuts' were in big, blue pastel chalk letters. Perfect, Dean thought. He let out a sigh as he entered. The line was long. He stood behind two people who seemed to be in a couples quarrel.

"We have to do it like usual," the guy said.

"No, duh, Jinxy," the girl said. "We'll bag it once we figure out what the hell it is."

"All you're going on is a ping," he said.

"And a ping is all I need," she said.

It was an odd conversation. Dean didn't think much of it, his stomach was in dire need of the Boston Cream donut he was eyeing behind the glass case. He figured he'd be nice and bring back Sam a coffee. His donut wasn't going to make the walk back to the coroners.

xxxxx

Back at the morgue, Sam and the coroner found little out of the ordinary. She had no wounds on her body and there was no sign of a murder weapon. Inside her body was an interesting discovery. Her brain was liquefied. Something, or someone had melted her brain. So, it was a case for them after all.

Dean came back with two steaming cups of coffee. He remembered to get Sammy his Red Eye, hoping beyond hope that he didn't need the extra shots of espresso. One shot was enough to tweak the system. How could he handle three? One of these days it really would be his funeral.

"So, I think we're either dealing with a witch who cursed her brain to melt, or a cursed object that magically turns the brain into goo," Sam said. He slipped his giant body into the passenger seat of the Impala. "Go back to Bobby's? Figure this out there?"

"Sounds good to me." Dean turned over the engine and pulled out of the lot.

xxxxx

Once the brothers finally got to talk with the husband, it was the next day. He had stayed the night in the hospital, grief stricken and unable to function. The hospital had released him twenty-four hours after his admittance. He really only need a script for Xanax and was sent on his way. Sam and Dean found him at his home. The cops left the yellow garland strewn from tree to tree. They knocked on the door.

"What," the man said as he wrenched the door open, "I already talked to two people about this."

Sam squinted his eyebrows in confusion. "We're FBI." The brothers pulled out their fake badges to show the man. He nodded and led them into his house. "We just want to ask you a few quick questions." The man led Sam and Dean to the kitchen table, and motioned them to take a seat.

"Now, these might seem a bit odd, but bear with us. It's all standard procedure," Dean said. The man nodded. Dean continued, "Has anything strange happened leading up to your wife's death?"

"Like what," he asked shakily. "She didn't do anything odd."

"Does she have any known enemies? Anyone that you can think of that would want to do her any harm?" Sam asked.

"N-no," he stuttered. "Everyone loved, Jen."

"Any new objects in the house? Anything old?" Dean asked.

"Yeah," he said. "She collected a lot of old things. Loved going to the antique store in town. Their best customer."

"And what is the name of this place?" Sam asked.

"Time and Again. It's down on Main," he said.

Sam and Dean got up from the chairs. They were prepared to head over there and have a word with the owner concerning the possibility of the place having cursed objects. Dean said, "What was the last thing she bought there?"

"That clock, on the mantel," he said, pointing at the fireplace.

"We're going to confiscate that," Dean said as he pulled a purple glove from his jacket pocket. He slipped the latex over his right hand. He picked up the antique clock. "I think we're good here, thanks for your time."


	2. Chapter 2

**Note: **Any grammatical errors are my own. Re-read and edited, but I always seem to slip up. Don't own nothing. Wish these two worlds could collide. At least there's fan fiction.

* * *

They took the clock back to Bobby's home. Sam had called Bobby from the car and got him to get a sigil covered box ready and waiting. If it really was a cursed clock, this was sure to hold it at by from melting brains.

"It's not the clock, you idgits," Bobby said once Dean brought it in by gloved hand.

"Come on!" Dean exclaimed. "How the hell do you know?"

"It's made to look like an antique," Bobby said. "Give it here." Dean handed the elder man the clock. Bobby turned it over in his hands, and removed the backing to expose the battery housing. It took four AA batteries for it to operate. "It's at the most ten years old."

"I need a beer," Dean said as he slipped the glove off his hand, and made his way to the kitchen. He took three beers out of the fridge. Once he reached the library there was a knock on the door. Sam answered it.

"Hi there," a perky young girl greeted the large man that answered the door. "We're here looking to get our survey answered."

"We're not interested," Sam said. He tried to shut the door, but was deterred by the girl who put her foot in the door frame.

"I'll cut to the chase, we're here about that clock that you took," she said rather quickly. "You zoinked it and we need it, Scooby."

"I like her," Dean said behind Sam. "You're no longer, Moose, Scooby."

"Why do you need the clock?"

"Let's just say," the man next to her finally spoke, "it's a possible artifact that we need for our job."

"It ain't cursed," Bobby's voice called from the library.

"Cursed?" The girl and guy shared a questioning look.

"Boys, let them in, they obviously know something," Bobby said. Sam opened the door, and the let the two people standing on the porch inside.

"And I thought the Warehouse was full of old and cluttered things," she remarked as she entered the library.

"First things first," Dean cut in, "we have to run a few tests." He pulled out a can of salt, a bottle of holy water, and a silver plated knife.

"No way, man," the guy said, putting up his hands in surrender. "I don't know what you think you're going to do with that, but I'm not down."

"It's standard procedure," Dean said with a smirk. He quickly shook the salt on the strangers, adding to it the holy water. "Take the knife," he said, giving it handle side out to the girl. "Slice your arm."

"Whoa, whoa, hold it," she said. "We didn't come her to get dowsed like a slab of meat only to cut ourselves for your freakish cannibalistic ritual."

"Dean," Sam cut in, "they're not demons, or monsters of any sort."

"I like him, listen to him," she said.

"Fine," Dean said, putting the knife back into his boot.

Bobby stood up from his chair. "Don't mind Dean, he's a little untrustworthy of new people on his turf. I'm Bobby." He held out his hand.

"Claudia," the girl said.

"Steve," the guy said, "Everyone calls me Jinx, my last name."

"These idgits are Sam and Dean. Sam's the one with the hair and Dean's the one with the knife."

"What'd you need the clock for?" Sam asked.

"Our line of work, it's an artifact." Claudia got looks of confusion from the three men. "Any object that causes weird things to happen, that shouldn't. We bag it, tag it and take it to the Warehouse to shelve for eternity."

"Like a cursed object?" Dean asked.

"Sort of," Jinx said. "It's usually an object that holds some sort of residual supernatural energy."

"Well, we know supernatural," Dean said. He took a swig of his beer.

"Forgive my idgit of a friend here," Bobby said. "Want something to drink? Alls we have is beer and whiskey."

Claudia raised a hand, "Underage."

"I'll take a beer," Jinx said.

"Dean, go get him one, for crying out loud. Here," Bobby moved to his desk, "here's the clock. It's not cursed."

"Let me see." Claudia placed a purple gloved on her hand, and picked up the clock. Jinx held out a silver bag that looked to be made out of aluminum foil. "Uh, shut your eyes," she said. Claudia and Jinx turned their heads, eyes shut, and bagged the item. Nothing happened.

"Oh, boy," Dean said with two beers in his hands. "We've got more Ghostfacers in our midst."

"It didn't work," Claudia said.

"Then it's not the clock," Jinx sighed.

"Told ya," Bobby said. "Idgits."

"What do you guys do, exactly," Claudia asked. She started to walk around the library, once things started to calm down in the house. She was looking at the shelves of books. They were old, dust ridden, and they all seemed to be concerning the occult. Claudia pulled down a book entitled, 'Angels, Demons, and Lore'. "Very Dan Brown," she commented.

"We're hunters," Dean said behind his beer.

"What, and no stuffed deer heads on the wall?" She asked.

Sam laughed. "That's not what we hunt."

"What do you hunt?" Jinx was intrigued. He was starting to really enjoy being around these two men. They were both tall, fit, and had really nice hair. Especially the taller one, Sam. His locks were long, and looked to be well taken cared for. A stark contrast to the state the home they found themselves in.

"Anything that goes bump in the night," Dean said. He finished his beer, slamming it down on the desk. He was leaning against it, facing the two people who were now sitting on the couch. "Mainly demons, certain assbutt angels, and any monster that turns its ugly face in my direction."

"Wait," Claudia sat forward on the couch, "those are real?"

"About as real as Lindsey Lohan's drug addiction," Dean said.

"So, ghosts?" Jinx asked.

"Yup," Sam said. "Ghosts too. We salt and burn their bodies. If that doesn't work, we usually find an object that they're attached to and burn it. Where the ghost goes, we still aren't sure."

"But our artifacts," Claudia started to say.

Sam finished, "Might be our cursed objects."

"They get cursed from hoodoo. Lucky rabbits foot that you lose and get bad luck until you die..." Dean started to say.

"Or ballet slippers that spin you around and around until you die," Sam continued.

"So, you die is the main point here," Jinx said.

"Pretty much," Dean said.

"If it isn't the clock," Claudia started to postulate.

"Then it has to be something else in the home," Jinx finished.

"Bingo," Dean said.


End file.
